Summary: Be careful what you wish for, it might come true.

Tags: High School, Sleep sex, slash, hotel room, swearing, first time, unrequited love, sexual content, explicit, dubious consent, heartbreak, jealousy, first person. Milex, underage drinking, canon and non canon couples, Alternate Universe

Warning

Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable herein and I have no intention of profiting on my writing.

Beta: GeezerWench

DEEPER

1.

The time on my phone read twenty minutes past three. A whole five, maybe six minutes since the last time I checked. The sounds coming from the room to my right had finally quieted about an hour ago. The ones to my left shortly after. It could've been hot, if I hadn't had to listen to Kyle Valenti groan, "Yeah, take that cock," every five seconds.

My arm hung off the bed, swinging like a pendulum, with my fingers brushing against the threadbare throw rug. I laid on my back, as far to the side as the double-size mattress allowed without falling off and landing on the floor.

I'd given up on sleep hours ago and just waited for morning to come so we could all just go home. Something I never thought I'd say. Without a TV in the room, there wasn't much to do besides stare at the ceiling; stained in a disgusting shade of brownish-yellow from years of nicotine exposure and neglect. The room reeked of a mix of cigarette smoke, urine, cum, and other bodily … fluids. The pungent stench permeated the air, the furniture, and even the walls. There was no way the motel had seen a paintbrush or hammer since it was built, which, judging by the condition of the place, had to have been sometime in the late 16th century. The wallpaper looked as if it originated from sometime around that era. I saw something similar on an episode of Antiques Roadshow the week before.

We were at least ten hours outside of Roswell, and I needed sleep or I'd be of no use on the drive tomorrow. I blinked to ease the itching and burning—my eyes felt grainy and dry as if I shoved my head in the sand.

I tried counting sheep, but only made it as far as one hundred before giving up. Doing it backwards transformed the ninety-eighth woolen critter into bottles of beer on the wall, which got me thinking about the actual beer on the floor. There were two cans left in the six-pack next to the room's only chair. It was one of those spindly types, with springs poking through the cushion's faded floral pattern, with more stuffing outside than inside. The bizarre guy with buck teeth and one lazy eye manning the front desk tried to pass it off as a loveseat, probably thinking it would raise the value of the room. Nothing could, especially not the Chinese torture device barely big enough to fit one, let alone two people. He'd have a better chance at claiming it was a Louis XIII from the 19th century. I had watched that episode, too, maybe three weeks ago.

So many antique shows, so little time.

I tried to do some quick math in my head—my mass times the volume of beer to see if I'd get drowsy enough to catch some Z's. It seemed like a good idea, for about two point zero seconds. Because then I'd have to drink it, which meant I'd have to taste it … And blargh. It wasn't worth it, not even for a few hours rest. My face twisted in a grimace. I had drunk plenty of carbonated bile in my life. Cold beer burned like stomach acid going down. It clawed at your throat like an acid reflux volcano. Lukewarm tasted better than cold, just barely. Less of a buzz, same horrible aftertaste. Emphasis on the horrible.

I gagged.

My body automatically reacted to my throat's rhythmic clenching and unclenching with forceful shuddering, the bedsprings protesting loudly. Trying to hold it back just made it worse. The bed's creaking, and my own groaning, drew a sleepy mumble from the person on the other side of the bed.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, feeling a headache coming on. Michael fucking Guerin. Michael to his friends, asshole to me. The bane of my existence, the reason for many sleepless nights, and the warm body currently spread out next to me, on top of the blanket, sleeping peacefully.

'Asshole.'

Angry, I grabbed the pillow from behind my head and gave it a couple of hard punches. Moisture; sweat, drool, tears and more— I didn't want to linger too long on the more—had seeped through the surrounding case and into the feathers, clumping them together. It felt like hitting a bag of rocks.

Guerin hummed, uncrossed his arms from behind his head and moved them to rest on his taut abdomen, and by doing so, drawing attention to his pecs. How firm, yet soft they looked. How well-defined. I wanted to lick each flat, dusky pink nipple to see if they tasted as sweet as I imagined. I scraped my teeth against my lower lip. "Hnnnngh."

Without realizing it, I had reached out to … I wasn't sure what. My hand just kind of hovered in the air above the trail of dark hair leading from his belly button to where it disappeared beneath the waistband of his black boxer briefs.

'Beautiful.' Not a word I'd ever used to describe a guy, but with Guerin it just fit. It almost hurt to look at him.

It hadn't always been that way. Growing up, everything about him had been big. Big brain, big nose, big ears ... big hair. He'd started shaving it off in junior high, but instead of being an improvement, it ended up making his other features stand out even more. Still, he'd been cute, in an awkward sort of way, and a little pudgy around the middle, but he hadn't exactly been a guy I wanted to write songs about. It all changed when I watched him walk through the doors the first day of our senior year.

Whatever they'd put in the water that summer had done wonders for the male students in my grade and the one below. They had left for break as boys and come back as men.

Suddenly, the year I had left till graduation didn't seem quite as bad.

~o~o~o~

The clock on the wall showed 7 am. Any other day of the year, the hallway would have been empty for another twenty-five minutes before students began trickling through the doors, a few in a hurry to get to the first class of the day, but most just dragging their feet, doing the best they could to avoid the unavoidable. The first day was different. Everyone came early to see and be seen, find out who got hot and who … didn't. I had already been there for fifteen minutes or so.

I'd spilled out of bed after just a couple of hours of sleep, skipped breakfast so I could spend the extra time on my appearance—first impressions were everything—then drove straight to school so I could get there ahead of everyone else. I was on a mission.

Leaning against my locker, I jotted down some stuff in my brand new notebook. The familiar sounds of something scraping against bricks, rubber soles squeaking and scuffing against the tiled floors, clanging of metal meeting metal, and voices, some loud and clear, others deep and quiet, were all nothing more than background noises. I was so preoccupied with what I was doing, I actually jumped when I heard a high pitched squeal followed by my name. Seconds later, something slammed into me, knocking me backwards. The air left my lungs in a whoosh. "Oof."

Two sets of lean arms wrapped around my neck and squeezed a little too hard. "Maria, Liz," I wheezed once I was able to form actual words. "I'm happy to see you, too. Now, please let me go so I can breathe."

When they did, I pretended to to fake hacking and coughing while greedily sucking in mouthful after mouthful of sweet fucking oxygen. Seconds later, twin pains exploded in my biceps as they punched me. "The hell?" I had my entire repertoire of PMS jokes on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back. I didn't want to risk them hitting me where I was the most vulnerable. They were deceptively strong for their sizes.

The school's ancient PA system crackled and the vice principal began reading announcements in her monotone voice. "After last year's outbreak of athlete's foot, we want to remind everyone to never go into the showers barefoot."

Maria tapped her fingers against her hip. As usual, she wore an oversized gypsy skirt held up by a wide belt with a large silver buckle encrusted with turquoise, her mother made and sold from the market, and tank top. "Where the hell have you been all summer?" she asked, sounding even more cattish than usual.

Liz crossed her arms just below her boobs. I The movement pulled down her pink blouse and gave her the mother of all cleavages. Her already pinched expression turned into an angry scowl when she noticed and gesticulated wildly. She started shouting at me in Spanish, her sleek, black ponytail flying with her movements. "Pinche pendejo! Es una mierda! You don't call, you don't write. Donde has estado? Estábamos preocupados!"

"Yeah." Maria nodded. "I thought we were friends."

"Uh ..." I sucked a little on my top lip and cocked my head to the side. "I'm ... sorry?"

The corner of Liz's mouth twitched.

Maria shoved a finger in my face, but the twinkle in her dark brown eyes made it hard to take her dirty look seriously. "You better be." Her hand went back to her hips. "Just..." she started, trying to sound stern. "... don't do it again."

Someone walked by and bumped into Maria, who knocked Liz into me. I took the opportunity to pull them into a tight hug. "Locas." The wire spiral on my notebook dug into my ribs. It hurt like a bitch but I didn't care, I just held them closer. "I've missed you."

Maria rubbed her cheek on the soft fabric of my new black turtleneck, over where my heart beat evenly inside my chest, like an affectionate kitten. The next thing I knew claws bit into my side. "So you won't forget."

"Ooow." I jerked away from her and dropped my arms. I pressed one hand to the stinging spot above my hip and the other to the bicep still throbbing from Liz's the corner of my eye, I saw someone walking towards where we stood, but when I noticed it was just little Noah Bracken, I turned my attention back on the girls. "So violent."

"Whatever," Maria waved me off with a pfft. "You'll live. Now, where were you?"

"The Air Force Academy in Colorado. For the summer seminar…" I was met by blank looks and barely resisted rolling my eyes. "... that I told you about a dozen times."

"That was for five weeks, Estúpido," Liz exclaimed. "Yo puedo contar, saber."

I went to push my hair behind my ear, forgetting my new, shorter 'do. "Yeah, but dad pulled some strings and …"

"...kept you away for three months," Maria finished the sentence with a snarl. "Son of a bitch!"

"Hijo de puta!" Liz spat, then turned her fiery eyes on me. "You could've called, Culo."

"They confiscated our phones the first day, and I didn't get mine back until I left for the airport."

Maria narrowed her eyes. "I see they had scissors," she snapped and flicked the gelled spikes, all that was left of my formerly dark hair. "And is that guyliner?"

Heat rose to my cheeks, "I'm trying something different." The result of too many wine coolers and a cute guy with a dare and an eye pencil. I liked the new style more than the kisses and decided to keep it.

"Mierda," Liz snorted. "So you're trying to tell us there are no phones in the entire state of Colorado? No internet? Smoke signals? Carrier pigeons?" she mocked me. "How did you survive?"

"Sorry," I snickered. "I'll do better next time."

"You better." Liz hooked her arm around mine and leaned into me. I was forgiven. "So when did you get home?"

"Late last night. I went straight to bed and crashed."

Sean DeLuca ruffled his cousins hair as he passed us on the way to his locker. I grabbed my notebook from underneath my arm and wrote him down as a 'maybe'. Grant Sorensen glanced at me from his locker two doors away from mine. The slow way he licked his lips while staring at me sent him right to the 'yes' column.

"Whaddya got there, Alex?" Maria asked curiously, trying to sneak a peek.

"A … roster, I guess you could call it," I answered absentmindedly while adding a couple of names under Hell No.

"Of what?"

I kept my eyes on the hallway, scribbling down a few names, crossing out others. "I'm compiling a list of the guys who got hot over the summer, and comparing them to the guys I suspect are gay, or at least bicurious."

Liz got up on her toes and tried to get a look.

"Relax." I grinned down at her. "Max's not on it."

She laughed. "I could've told you that."

Kyle Valenti strutted by on his way to his girlfriend's locker. An involuntary shudder went through me.I turned my attention back to the notebook, and covered half the page with a big, fat 'never' in blocky capital letters.

His eyes met Liz's, and he slimed his signature smirk. "Hey. Long time no see."

She returned his greeting with a polite, regal finger wave. Kyle nodded at Maria, but when he turned his beady eyes on me, his mouth twisted in disgust. I flipped him off and turned my back on him. "Ugh," I stuck a finger into my mouth and pretended to gag. "How could you go out with him?" I asked Liz incredulously.

She had dated him for almost two years before coming to her senses. "He has some good qualities," she answered. Then, cocking her head, she put a finger to her chin, probably realizing she didn't have to come to his defense anymore. "Right?"

In my book, there was only one thing that could even remotely make up for his assholish ways. "That depends," I sort of hummed and tapped the pen against my teeth. I asked the question I wondered about, but didn't really want the answer to. "Is there any truth in the rumors? That he's got a big …?"

"Ego?" Maria snorted. "Then yes, and that's all that's big about him"

My eyes widened, and Liz's grew huge on her face. I turned to face Maria. "Eh…" I tried to find the words, but how did you ask your best friend if she'd been canoodeling with satan himself? Everything inside me revolted. It better not mean what I think it means. "Something you wanna share, hun?"

"No! Ew!" She pushed me, hard, and I bounced back, sort of like a roly-poly toy. "Who the hell do you take me for? Some of us have standards."

"Hey!" Liz protested.

"Sorry, but you know I'm right." Maria stated bluntly. "Look at the way he flaunts himself. Tight shirts, even tighter jeans. There is no way he's hiding anything bigger than a cocktail weiner inside those Wranglers."

A strangled sound escaped Liz. She pressed her lips together, turning an interesting shade of purple. Maria was too busy listing Kyle's other shortcomings to notice. Liz's light brown eyes watered when Maria brought up a particular fond memory of him in wet boardshorts that left everything to the imagination, and for a moment I thought she'd start crying. Palming her face, she bent forward, clutching her stomach. She gasped for breath, and with tears pouring down her cheeks she burst out into a roaring laughter.

I zeroed in on Kyle's fly. I saw myself as a true connoisseur of denim-covered cock, but just thinking about what kind of sausage Kyle had packed away in his shorts made me throw up in my mouth. But I couldn't look away. I even squinted a little. It didn't look like anything to write home about. My lips puckered in a moue of pity. "Poor Cam."

"Am I the only one who thinks she dresses up in cheap vinyl corsets and takes The Cat to his lily white ass?" Maria asked randomly.

Vivid pictures seared themselves into my brain thanks to my active imagination.

Liz had been wiping her face with the back of her hand, but at Maria's words she was back to hacking and coughing. "Oh, my god!" Liz sputtered. "What is wrong with you?"

Maria shrugged. "So I guess it's just me then."

I caught Patrick Howe checking out the three of us from his locker and gave him the stink eye. This wasn't a fucking Spice Girls song. I didn't want any potential lovers even thinking about getting with my friends. I crossed out his name.

Dressed in a leather jacket and torn jeans, Jenna Cameron—Cam to those who valued their lives—shoved Kyle up against her locker and proceeded to swallow his face. The horribly disturbing images made a sudden rerun in my mind, this time in full 4D, with the sounds, and the smells, and the ... Oh, God, I'm gonna be sick.

I looked away from the public display of are-you-fucking-kidding-me just as Michael Guerin walked through the doors. My mouth dropped open. "Fuck. Me." Please! Everything around me disappeared, as if someone had hit the mute button, and all I heard were my own heartbeats and the blood rushing in my ears.

We were the only two left as the hallway transformed into a slow motion montage. He didn't walk, but floated. The glare of the fluorescents made him shine even more brightly.

Angels sang in the beautiful voice of Ruelle.

"You're pulling me in

This is how it begins

See how much I can take

Push and pull 'till I break"

In a daze, I licked my dry lips.

He walked with a new swagger, and it wasn't all that had changed. The long summer had added at least three inches to his height and he'd let his hair grow into a tousled mess of espresso brown curls. One errant lock fell into his eyes, and my fingers itched to brush it away. The green flannel went perfectly with his hazel eyes. I wanted to lick the tanned skin peeking through the open collar. The rest of his face had caught up with his formerly oversized ears and nose and was all sharp angles and a strong jaw softened by a light scruff. A half smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and his full pink lips were made for kissing and sucking on my cock.

There wasn't an ounce of baby fat left on his body. The shirt strained against his broad shoulders and the muscular planes of his chest. His jeans, looking soft and well worn, hung dangerously low on narrow hips, but it did nothing to disguise the contours of his cock. The muscles in his thighs flexed deliciously with each long stride. He nodded casually to people he knew but didn't stop to talk to anyone. His gaze never touched me directly but I could feel the heat on my skin. I didn't need a mirror to know the tip of my ears burned a bright red.

Salivating, I watched him pass my locker and followed every rock of his hips and sway of his ass until he rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. I squeezed my fists, startled by the sound of crinkling paper. Looking down, I found I had ripped the page out of the notebook without even realizing it. It made perfect sense. After seeing him, no one else would do.

A couple of hours later, in P.E, I had just sat down on the bleachers to tie my shoes when who sauntered out of the locker room if not Michael fucking Guerin. I almost swallowed my tongue when he took off his shirt halfway through class to wipe the sweat from his face. I had to fake an injury—not difficult when I was already limping—so I could rub one out in the showers.

In the afterglow of my first Michael-related orgasm, my heart was beating so hard I could literally feel it slamming against my ribs.

The emotions were too strong, too powerful to be one-sided. It convinced me he had to feel the same. It was just a matter of time before he came to realize it.

~o~o~o~

I had been so young once. So naive. So stupid.

It may have been my first Guerin-related shower session, but certainly not the last. It hadn't worked in my favor then either. My dick throbbed, hard less than an hour after jerking off in the crappy motel room's tiny bathroom. The images popping up in my head made me ache, and the more I tried to push them away the faster and harder they came back. Like whack-a-mole, if the moles were fantasies of what I wanted to do to Michael, and have him do to me. Two guys in a motel, alone, in nothing but underwear, sharing the same bed, inhibitions lowered by alcohol … Anything could happen ...

Except Guerin wasn't gay.

I had found it hard to believe at first, but the evidence just kept piling up in the form of more than half the girls of Roswell High bragging about it. The beautiful man-boy with eyes that saw into your soul and a pinchable bubble butt was of the heterosexual persuasion.

'What a waste.'

Moaning, Michael twisted and turned on the bed until he ended up on his side. The shift in weight caused a dip in the mattress, the sheet—and me—slipped towards the middle of the bed. I held my breath, afraid to move a single muscle andrisk accidentally brushing up against him.

Ever so carefully, I shuffled closer to the edge, my heart beating so loudly in my ears, Guerin had to hear it. While I was scared shitless to wake him, I desperately wanted to know what would happen if I did.

My hands felt clammy and cold, I tried shaking them to get some blood to my fingers and ended up brushing my fingers against the back of his hand. I flinched, burned by the accidental touch. The pain felt so real I was surprised there wasn't a singe mark on my skin.

Frustrated, I grabbed the pillow and held it over my face. I sucked in a harsh breath, and almost choked on the rancid smell of stale cigarettes and old sweat. 'Argghhh! I am in Hell.'

tbc

Thank you for reading

Endnotes: I'm thinking four chapters for this, and then maybe a short sequel in Michael's point of view.

Endnotes 2: Sorry if fucked up Liz's Spanish. I did as best as I could

Definitions and honorable mentions

The Iron Chair is a torture device that has several different variations depending on its origin and use throughout history. It also has many names - the Chinese torture chair, the torture chair, and the Iron Chair.

PVC clothing, commonly known as "vinyl clothing", is shiny clothing made of the plastic polyvinyl chloride (PVC).The PVC plastic is also called vinyl.

The cat o' nine tails, commonly shortened to the cat, is a type of multi-tailed whip that originated as an implement for severe physical punishment, notably in the Royal Navy and Army of the United Kingdom, and also as a judicial punishment in Britain and some other countries.

A roly-poly toy is a round-bottomed toy, usually egg-shaped, that tends to right itself when pushed at an angle, and does this in seeming contradiction to the force of gravity.